BOOMERANG
It’s 2021 and you are dressed tidy in a well-pressed kaftan,
sat across a potential girlfriend who is doused in a jasmine scent,
watching the half-empty glass like it’s a movie.

She is intentional, she wants to know the future.
So she asks; “will you hit your future kids?”
The conformist in you leaps from your subconscious
and sits at the tip of your tongue.
You said, “Yes.”

It’s 2005,
and your hands have stolen nairas
whose value your mind is too young to understand.
To be purged of this evil,
the man whose resemblance you bear beats your back like a drum.
Your skin trembles, the birds suspend their song.
Your skin breaks, mother cries.
Blood pours out—
the perfect repentance.

It’s 2018,
and you’re cosied up in bed.
Each breath takes you deeper into dreamlands.
The man whose face you now wear reenacts scenes from 2005.
Your heart couldn’t tell it was a dream.
It raced faster as the memory replayed.

You wake up, skin trembling.
You wake up, mouth quivering.
You tell yourself, I’m grown & it’s just a dream.

“Why,” she said.

The firmness of her tone brings you back to 2021.
A frown escapes your brow and spreads across your face.
Because even though she just asked why,
what you heard is:

“Why are you hellbent on repeating this cycle of trauma?”

Eruemulor is a poet and spoken word artiste whose work explores memory, justice, and lived experience. He is currently working on his debut poetry collection, Wails of My Youth, which examines religious violence in northern Nigeria.